


The Directed Dress-Up Affair

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Series: The Directed Affairs [1]
Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Community: kink_bingo, Directedverse, Gender Play, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-14
Updated: 2010-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As preparation for a party, Illya is getting ready to play a role--which might give Napoleon a little insight into his partner, finally. BDSM AU, written for the "gender play" prompt for kink_bingo 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Directed Dress-Up Affair

"If I didn't know you better," Napoleon said, "I'd say you were enjoying this."

Illya was standing in front of a full-length mirror teasing his eyelashes into a perfect fan. He lowered the mascara brush like a dagger and shot a look over his shoulder. "I do find all of this bourgeois nonsense rather depressing," he said, "but the effect is somewhat gratifying."

Napoleon nodded and raised his eyebrows appreciatively. Illya rolled his eyes and turned back to the mirror.

It would be enough to insult a dom, if Napoleon was the sort to take that kind of thing seriously. But Illya Kuryakin was happier being a particular sort of Soviet puzzle than conforming to any American expectations, and asking him to conform in this particular way was an imposition.

An imposition that had him in very tightly-cut trousers and a shirt that covered very little skin, thank heaven and a photographic memory.

Napoleon had very little trouble dressing as a dominant's dominant, as it were; he enjoyed the flash and the power and being irresistible. But he hated not being able to read Illya. Officially, Illya was 'undisclosed'--unofficially, he usually fell into a dominant role when they were working, whatever he did in bed. Napoleon hadn't often been moved to guess one way or the other--out loud.

"All right," Illya said, capping the mascara and setting it on the table beside him. He straightened in the mirror and ran his hand down the side of his pants, smoothing the seam. "Am I passable?"

Napoleon looked his partner up and down, a fairly happy task. Illya certainly looked the part of a society submissive in the latest Paris style--tight pants, open shirt, and slingback stilettos with pointed toes. He'd teased out his hair a bit, and the makeup had softened his features and given his mouth an irresistible pout. "Perfect," Napoleon said, aiming for flippant and falling possibly an inch short. "From tip to toe the height of fashion."

"Hm," Illya said dismissively. He took a few steps away from the mirror, then looked back to eye the straps on his shoes. "Running in these will be next to impossible."

"I think you're meant to kick them off," Napoleon suggested.

"All of the great technical innovations of the west can't come up with a shoe both fashionable and athletic," Illya mused. "And in the meantime, where am I meant to keep my gun?"

Napoleon cleared his throat. "Handbag."

"Ah. Of course."

Illya went to the coat rack where he'd hung his jacket and pulled his pistol from the holster. As he was tucking it into his bag, Napoleon cleared his throat again and said, "There is one last detail."

Illya looked up. Napoleon held up the collar, gleaming with gold filigree and the marital padlock on the D-ring glittering with precious stones. Illya looked at him blankly. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

He'd been prepared to laugh it off, to joke, but Illya's affect left him flat. "Well... you're not, are you?"

"This is extraordinarily tacky," Illya said offhandedly, then frowned. "In school, we would say, 'property is theft.' This--" he poked at the padlock, "takes property a step further than I'm entirely comfortable with."

"Well, for the ruse to work, we really ought to be married, _darling,"_ Napoleon said, layering the last word with sarcasm. "But if it's against your nature..."

Illya raised an eyebrow. "It's not my nature I'm concerned about. It's the potential reaction to it."

Napoleon straightened up, stung. "Illya, have I ever given you cause to imagine that my regard for you would suffer from any revelations about your... nature?"

"No." Illya smiled suddenly, softly, and took half a step closer. He dropped his eyes for a moment. "Of course not."

Just as Napoleon was starting to think this was a very welcome turn of events, Illya reached up and tucked his fingers into Napoleon's shirt collar, and jerked him downwards a couple of inches until their faces were at a level. "Just don't let me give you cause to imagine it," Illya said, smirking.

Something in Napoleon's brain stuttered at the sight of Illya's sudden switch, his casual dominance even while in sub's clothing. Then Illya plucked the gaudy collar from his hand and held it up to his neck. "Here, give me a hand with this. We have a party to attend."


End file.
